


The Moment We Rest

by DLoss



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Inappropriate Use of Foxholes, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Okinawa, Palau, WWII, pavuvu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:15:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27042598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DLoss/pseuds/DLoss
Summary: Snafu tends to grasp onto the closest heat source at night, and guess who's in the foxhole with him?It might be an issue if it weren't 50/50 on dying tomorrow.
Relationships: Merriell "Snafu" Shelton/Eugene Sledge
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	The Moment We Rest

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't watched this series, or read one of the books it's based on, 'With the Old Breed at Peleliu and Okinawa', please check them out. One, The Pacific is a genuine, heart breaking, honest look at the Pacific theatre in WWII (Which, as an Aussie has always been of interest to me). And Two, the 'Old Breed' is by far the best war memoir I have ever had the pleasure of reading. 
> 
> This is obviously based on the fictitious TV characters and not the real people the were based on, and I make no inference at what may or may not have happened in various foxholes and tents in the pacific and beyond.

At first Sledge blamed Peleliu.

That goddamned airfield that they spent days defending, crossing. The fucking foxhole dug into the stony, coral ground, providing what bare cover they could manage on the hellhole of an island. They slept awkwardly against the rocky ground, lulled into a state of panicked sleep by the sound of fast air and shells landing. The echo of gunfire somewhere across the landing strip.

If could even be called that anymore. It was mostly shrapnel now.

The ground was surprisingly cold, considering it was a tropical island. Maybe it was because they were all hungry and thirsty and busy sweating themselves, scared that the next shell would land just close enough to fuck them up, but not kill them outright.

Maybe Sledge was cold because of the knowledge that the dry, sandy, coral was slick with blood and bullets and gunpowder. Busy getting a dose of fertiliser in the form of the decaying bodies of his fellow Marines and the Japanese. The closest one he’d watched Snafu pull the gold fillings out of barely three hours ago.

Shortly before the man had made himself look way too comfortable and told them to wake him in four hours.

Sledges concerned glances had barely raised Burgie’s eyebrows, the corporal shrugging slightly and getting comfortable himself, closing his eyes and, somehow, managing to find sleep. Maybe it came with practice, but Sledge doubted he’d be finding sleep tonight.

It was at some point after one of the star shells had lit up a far area of trees, drawing Sledges attention enough to get him to shift in the foxhole, roll onto his belly to watch the light hover. It illuminated some part of the airfield or its surrounds out of sight from his view. He didn’t know whose it was. It didn’t really matter. He hadn’t realised how close he’d moved to Snafu until he felt the touch of fingers against the edge of his shirt. As if the man was reaching out to see what was beside him. Sledge glanced around in surprise, the edges of the distant light enough to see that Snafu definitely looked still asleep.

Which was why, when the man rolled onto his side to press against him, Sledge didn’t instantly punch him.

He froze instead, staring at the man as the far-off light died and fell from the sky. Leaving him in darkness with a sleeping Snafu against him like he needed a pillow or something in the night. He rolled slightly away, experimentally seeing if he could extricate himself without waking the surly corporal. Instead he became more entangled when Snafu grunted something in his sleep, his arm gripping across his ribs to stop him moving.

There was a slight scoff in the near dark behind him.

“He gets cold.” Burgie explained in a whisper. “You’re just the nearest heat source.”

“Great.” Sledge muttered. Burgie laughed again and gravel shifted and there was a jolt through him via Snafu as the sound of a boot connecting with a boot was just covered by gunfire.

“Fuck off.” Snafu snarled, bleary and barely awake. A phrase of what sounded like French muttered into his side. Sledge felt him grip in tighter, pressed against him like that would help.

“Time for watch, Snaf, stop assaulting the boots.”

“Want me to assault you instead?” Snafu growled, pulling away. “You’re the worst heater in the company.”

“What a terrible fate.”

Snafu laughed quietly, the sound of a lighter flicking on made Sledge turn slightly to watch the burning tobacco and paper light up Snafu’s face in the almost dark. The cooling air against the warm space he’d been in a moment ago making Sledge glance at his own side.

“Least mama’s boy here is good for something.” Snafu drawled, exhaling the smoke towards Sledge as the spoke. “Ya make a decent heater, Sledge.”

“Great.” Sledge growled again, rolling back onto his back to try and make himself comfortable on the rocks. “Just what I need to be on a tropical fucking island.”

“Makes ya useful to me.” Snafu pointed out amusedly.

“Shut the fuck up.” Someone snarled nearby.

“Sorry honey, I interrupt your beauty sleep?” Snafu snarked back at the adjacent foxhole, quiet arguing across the ground continuing for a while as Sledge tried to close off the noise and get his brain to turn off.

It never did get all the way to sleep that first night on the airfield.

Or the second.

After a while he learned how to sleep. Learned that he needed to turn off his brain and body or he couldn’t move or concentrate and that was liable to get him killed.

Just like the bodies they’d left strewn behind them. Around them. Friends, enemies. They were all starting to blur.

The Marines clung on to one another. They had to. To stay sane, to stay alive. Keep the man beside you alive and maybe you’d get through, too.

Snafu was still an asshole, but since Sledge had hauled him up and got him moving when they’d crossed that goddamned landing strip he’d been treating him less like a warm body that was liable to die at any time, to an actual comrade.

Sledge wasn’t thrilled with the nickname, but it was better than Snafu assuring him he wouldn’t live long enough for it to be worth learning about ‘wherever the fuck ya from or whatever the fuck ya do, plantation boy’.

They were lying against the wet coral ground the next time Sledge noticed Snafu using him as a heat source. He didn’t even bother waiting till he was asleep. They’d tried to get the bottom of the foxhole dry and drained to some success before Sledge laid on his back and told Leyden to wake him for watch and Snafu was next to him a second later. Lying on his side, chest to Sledge’s shoulder, his pack tucked under his head for a pillow.

“Really?” Sledge muttered.

“Wanna complain, Sledgehammer?” Snafu chuckled. “Don’t start, we all in this rain. We all soaked and over it. Me lying next to you worse than the Jap’s shootin’ at ya?”

Sledge rolled his eyes and chose wisely not to respond to _that_ particular line of dialogue. Snafu seemed to take that as a victory and settle in against him. Not quite snuggling, but close enough that they were sharing body heat.

Sledge had to admit. In this god forsaken rain, the extra bit of heat was incredible.

It wasn’t like he was the only one Sledge ended up sleeping against. They all wound up against each other at some point. Piled into holes and rock flats and jungle scrub close enough to get real personal without trying. Sledge had woken to a few of the guys half slung over each other or himself, trying to find heat or comfort or space in the night.

And Snafu really was liable to take up with anyone nearby. It became general knowledge than anyone within a foot of Snafu while he was sleeping was going to become a body pillow. It was hardly the worst thing in the world. He got close but never as inappropriate as he threatened to be while he was awake. Snarking and joking back and forth with Burgie or the others whenever it was commented on.

But Sledge did notice that the man gravitated towards him. Especially when it was raining. Which was half the goddamned time on this hell hole of a tropical paradise. He made no pretence about why he was lying down next to him, not waiting until either one of them was asleep before lying against him. Shoulder to shoulder or rolling his chest against his arm. He didn’t apologise and Sledge didn’t really protest.

Because what the fuck for?

The man needed heat to sleep and a sleep deprived, cold and annoyed Snafu was one thing he didn’t want to meet in this jungle. If anyone else noticed or cared no one said anything.

And the few times Sledge woke in the night or was woken for watch and had to extricate himself from Snafu, now completely wound around him, arm slung over his chest and legs hooked over his knees, were never spoken of either.

Snafu was tired. Sledge had noticed instantly when they’d finally stopped moving. He’d had first watch and then sleep had been interrupted by combat and a long, drawn out struggle in the dark hours until the morning light. Then they’d had to move. Check the Japs line, follow it back to their now abandoned camp.

So, while Sledge was fighting to get into his can of food Snafu sat heavily next to him. Resting his head against his shoulder, leaning into him bodily and slumping down as if he was too exhausted to keep himself upright.

“Bad dreams, princess?”

“I’m cold.” Snafu complained.

“How?” Sledge laughed, spreading his hand out to indicate the bright daytime jungle. The heat not oppressive today, but hardly cool.

“Fuck off.” Snafu snarled.

“You got a fever?” Burgie asked from nearby, turning over a box that must have been used for rations and using it to sit.

“Fuck if I know.” Snafu shrugged. Sledge sighed and shifted to twist his arm around and touch his forehead underneath his helmet.

“Nah, he’s just grumpy.” He reported, taking his hand away quickly as he felt Snafu still under his touch against his warm skin. “Needs his beauty sleep.”

“You gotta eat, Snaf.” Burgie told him firmly, standing to push an opened ration into his hands. Snafu grunted in reply and, without taking his weight off Sledge, started picking at his food.

When they dug in that night, though it hardly counts as digging in when you collapse into a half dug fox hole in a line of trees, Snafu grabbed the edge of Sledges shirt to drag him to the ground next to him. The dark barely set in before Snafu was using his chest as a pillow and pressed against his side. Asleep barely minutes later.

Burgie was still smoking, sitting on the edge of the hole, eyebrow raised. Sledge shrugged in response, really not knowing how to get out of this situation, or if he really wanted to. Snafu was already comfortable and asleep, waking him would cause no end of bitching.

Leyden muttered something about taking first watch if they insisted, sniggering at Snafu’s sleep deprived behaviour.

“Let him sleep.” Burgie sighed. “Don’t need a repeat of today for a while.”

Merriell had never really been good at sleeping alone. He’d shared his bed for a long time growing up and ended up sprawled through more than several beds of friends and lovers and random strangers back in the French Quarter.

So, sleeping so close to the other Marines was a blessing in disguise for him. Sharing foxholes gave him the perfect recipe to sleep body close to someone without making it obvious that he wasn’t the straightest Marine in the company. Without making obvious he was queer. Though he figured at least Burgie had worked that one out by now. Sledge was a little slower on the uptake and he doubted Leyden had even considered the possibility.

And Sledgehammer had proven to be a wonderful ally. Never said a damned thing about waking up with Merriell wrapped around him like he was a reptile in winter. Letting him settle in next to him when it was clear it was going to be a long night, or a cool night, or when they were wet and soaked to the bone. They joked about it some if they were both awake when it happened, Sledge bemoaning the fact he’d slept with more people here than he ever will back home in Mobile. Merriell bemoaning the fact Sledgehammer wasn’t prettier. The guys around them would join in, start talking about the girls waiting for them back home. The ones they’d shared nights with growing up. The backs of cars and barns and back rooms they’d ended up in on errant teenage nights.

It made it easier, then, to lie against Sledge and let himself rest. To turn off his defences and get the kind of sleep that he needed to be alert for the next day. Though they were all tired. Combat days and long marches through the jungle, sinking under the weight of their mortar, the long, long stretches of anxiety and stress and the ever looming threat of being seen before they saw them.

After the worst day he’d had in a while, kept up for forty-eight hours by sporadic combat and movement and bad sleep and the nightmares, he was done. He needed to rest. A good amount of them did. So when the foxhole was good enough he dragged Sledge to act as his pillow, made himself comfortable and fell to sleep with the sound of Sledges heart beating in his ear.

It was better than the sound of gunfire or the distant silence of the jungle.

Sledge made no argument, lifted his arm out of the way when Merriell pulled against him, and let him sleep against him. The chattering of the guys around him blinking out just as quickly.

He woke some hours later as Sledge was trying to carefully pull free of him. Unwind the arm that had ended up around his ribs and roll away. Merriell made a noise of annoyance as he did so. Sledge paused and sighed.

“Gotta piss, Snaf.” He explained quietly. Merriell grudgingly moved back, rolled away to free the man as he got up. The sound of him sounding off quietly, passing along tonight’s word faded. Cold air flushing against the warm skin, the sweat, that had built up between them. Surprisingly Merriell didn’t have to piss. He needed to drink more water.  
Tomorrow.

He rolled onto his back, looking up at the stars in the surprisingly clear sky, visible beyond the canopy of the jungle. The edges of awareness coming back to him as he woke proper. Aware now that no one else was nearby in the foxhole, the sound of quiet whispers and movement of whoever was on watch. The slight smell of cigarette smoke on the still air and the sound of movement as Sledge appeared back over the edge, moving back to the place he’d just left. Merriell expected him to lie the usual distance away, let Merriell have to make it up to get his body heat, but he laid down, shoulder to shoulder with him. Close enough that their hips and knees were touching, like he’d given up entirely on personal space.

“Feel better?” Sledge asked.

“Feel like I’m never gonna have a straight neck again.” Merriell admitted, twisting his head to crack his spine, louder than he’d expected.

“Christ, Snaf, you break it?”

“Don’t be stupid.” Merriell scoffed, moving on to his fingers next. How had Sledge never noticed him doing this? “Feels like new joints after.”

“Gross, stop.”

“When I’m done.” Merriell promised, cracking his knuckles one by one. Sledge sighed, as if giving up, and moved the arm against Merriell up and over his head, tucking it under his neck and shifting slightly to get comfortable.

Merriell stilled. Same as he had the day before when Sledge had reached out to rest his fingers against his forehead. The gentle but oblivious touch sending the wrong message to someone like Merriell.

Was his arm moving out of his way simply acceptance that Merriell was going to end up wrapped around him? Was it an invitation to do so? Was he thinking about this too hard?

It didn’t matter what his conscious brain wanted, anyway. His unconscious brain was going to find the nearest heat source and wrap around it. And Sledge had made it painfully clear he didn’t mind.

So Merriell rolled onto his side, pulling his pack under his head and pressing his chest to the side of Sledges ribs and hoping that no one noticed his hard on.

Finding time alone on a combat trail was hard enough.

But Sledge was a week deep into Snafu sleeping basically on top of him and he hadn’t found a way around this. There was no way known to man he could jack off with the knowledge that Snafu could feel it every time he moved. It was hard enough knowing that there were people a few feet away. Not that it wasn’t done. He’d heard enough on these nights to know full well that the guys all needed to relieve themselves at some point.

But he was baffled, partly because Snafu was sleeping against him and, unless he managed it while he or Sledge was on watch, he hadn’t taken any time for himself either.

So when he woke in the night blissfully free of Snafu, immediately confused because the man had been against his back an hour or two ago, it made him roll onto his back. He hadn’t gone far, a few feet away in the foxhole, Burgie awake on watch on the ridge above them, the dim starlight filtering down through cracked and burned branches.

Instantly obvious Snafu had his hand in his pants, the sound of patchy breathing barely audible over the slight wind.

His movement garnered attention, though, and Snafu froze, looking startled in the near dark. Then seemingly relaxing.

“I wake you, Sledgehammer?” He drawled in a whisper. “Or you just miss me?”

“Just keep it down.” Sledge muttered, rolling back onto his side, facing away to let the man finish.

“Ya could always help me out.”

“You’re pretty, Snaf, but not that pretty.” Sledge assured the man, earning a quiet chuckle in reply.

He laid in the dark, trying to pretend he wasn’t listening to Snafu’s breathing pick up, lengthen, like he couldn’t hear the soft movement of the fabric and skin. The slight grind of the mans boot against the ground as Sledge imagined he strained to keep himself still and quiet like guys do.

Like he wished he could do.

It wasn’t obvious when Snafu finished, but it became clear he had after his breathing settled, quieting into the sound of the wind. When he moved, fabric rustling as Sledge assumed he made himself presentable and climbed out of the hole. Moving up to Burgie to take over. Their quiet words as cigarettes lit up against the night sky.

Now was a good a time as any. Only Leyden a few feet away, dead to the world.

He hoped.

He stayed on his side, conscious he was missing the warmth of Snafu against him and slightly disappointed about it on the cool night. But his dick paid him attention quickly.

He tried to keep calm despite the sudden desperation he had to come, tried to keel his breathing into the wind to keep it quiet. Knowing that there was no point. Not like the other Marines gave a shit about him jacking off.

His mind wandered, he hadn’t started with anything specific in mind so it wandered to the closest thing. Snafu’s offer, or request for assistance. His quiet tease that he safely assumed would never be accepted by another Marine.

And Sledge hadn’t ever really considered it. Until now. The idea of body heat on a warm night, hands under his sweat and blood-stained dungarees. Sharing the burden of finding relief in the dark nights and quiet tension of ever-present threat of combat. Snafu’s teasing smile and white teeth and blue eyes.

“ _Fuck_.” Sledge whispered quietly to himself as he came. Tension rushing out of his body all at once. Taking him from pent up to relaxed with the easy stroke of his hand for a minute or two.

He breathed in the cool wind as he shifted to tidy himself. Move back onto his back and wait for sleep to come as his adrenaline sagged.

Thinking to himself that this might have been a concerning development if it weren’t 50/50 on him dying tomorrow.

Pavuvu was a welcome change to their rotation. Wearily shipped back and dry docked to recover from their torn feet and sores, sleep against the sound of the ocean instead of the war. The worst thing to deal with the boredom and incessant presence of the MP’s and other asshole CP dickheads who thought their war was real. Oh, and the fucking crabs. Worse than the goddamned Japanese.

They had a new rotation of Marines coming in, Burgie had told them. A bolster to the numbers, a new Captain that would never be able to fill the shoes Ack-Ack had left behind. But that was days away and Sledge had gotten through a book or two already, glad if anything of the quiet and peace they had in their bunks.

He was distantly aware two nights in a row when Snafu woke in the middle of the night with a start. Some nightmare dragging him out of sleep and tossing on his bunk.

It wasn’t until the third night when Sledge found the man crouching next to his own bunk, lit up by the moonlight filtering in through the fly screen of the tent. It took a few seconds to recognise Snafu in the dimness, to see the exhaustion on his face. Knowing almost instantly what he wanted.

“’M cold, Sledgehammer.” He reported quietly. Almost like he was trying to convince himself he wasn’t asking.

Sledge moved backwards on the canvas and tucked his arm under his pillow. Snafu moved forward, almost slumping onto the bed, tucking his own pillow against Sledges chest and curling up. Fitting almost perfectly in the space despite them being basically the same height.

Snafu was tense for a few minutes, almost flinching when Sledge setting his arm on his side. Because where the hell _else_ was he gonna put the damn thing?

Then he released a breath, a deep sigh from his chest and Sledge felt days of tension and sleepless nights seep out of him.

When he woke in the morning Snafu was already gone, out of his bed before Reveille came. Sledge pretended he wasn’t disappointed.

But Snafu was notably in a better mood that day.

Okinawa was a fucking nightmare. It was wet, muddy and it was intense. The Japanese defended their territory fiercely and Snafu had watched Sledgehammer experience the worst of combat and come out the other side cracked and broken. Merriell wasn’t far from it either. Worn down from months of bad weather, worse combat and watching the continuous train of Marines break and shatter around him. He didn’t know if it was the near continuous shelling, the ongoing mortar fire, the constant sound of combat all around them unless they were in it, or it was the inescapable rain and mud, or the unavoidable stench that had become their lives. Rotting flesh and human filth. Their dungarees half covered in maggots or blood or both. They kept losing one after another. A face would show up and then vanish.

But Sledge was still here. Still breathing. Still begrudgingly letting him use him as a heater on the nights he needed one. Providing the back and forth they needed to forget for five seconds their horrendous and inescapable situation.

He gotten better with it, too. Ever since the night Merriell had had to crawl into his bunk when they were dry docked, he’d cared less.

But the night Merriell had woken, curled against Sledge’s back, and realised what had woken him had nearly ended his combat career with a heart attack.

Sledge was jacking off.

And it was still raining, so no-one could hear his choppy breathing. But Merriell could feel it. His chest moving, feel and see the movement of his arm and shoulder, the flex of muscles through his back. The slight raise of his knee to give himself the space.

He was willing to bet that Sledge thought or hoped he would sleep through it. And he half wished he had, too. Because now _he_ needed a wank.

He moved slightly on the wood they’d used to try and keep out of the puddles, so that his sudden uncomfortable hard on wouldn’t become obvious to Sledge. The plastic hooked above them trying to run the rain off flapping in the breeze covered the noise. But Sledge paused, held his breath as if waiting to see if Merriell was awake.

Merriell kept his breathing even and shifted again like he was asleep, reaching an arm up to hook over Sledges ribs, snaking in under his elevated elbow.

The man tensed and Merriell knew he shouldn’t find this amusing, but really wanted to see what he’d do. Get up and finish in the latrine? Keep going despite Merriell hooked around him like a lover?

And if he did keep going, what the fuck did that mean?

It was too late to pull away, it would make his wakeful state too obvious, so Merriell relaxed and breathed like he was asleep. Calm and even.

Sledge, hesitantly at first, kept going. His breaths deepening and then pausing at times, body tensing with the effort, the small movements of his body even more obvious now he was so close.

It took everything Merriell had not to help the guy out. Not to reach down and take over and drawl into his ear to let him.

Sledge was a ‘Bama boy. And even if he wasn’t straight, he was bound to be deep in denial about it. And the middle of the night in enemy territory is not the time to challenge that view of oneself.

Merriell felt the air stutter in the chest against him, felt his body tense as Sledge came into his hand. The sudden relaxing of his entire body, tension flowing out of him as he took a deep few breaths to calm himself, even his breathing.

Merriell had to smile to himself, enjoying sharing this moment despite it being one sided. Wondering what Sledge had been thinking about. If he had a pretty girl back home he’d never mentioned. Or if Peck’s mistress had been enough. Or, miracles be, if he’d just been thinking about Snafu wrapped around him in the middle of the night.

He wondered, as he let himself fall asleep again, if that was the first time Sledge had jerked off while sleeping against him. If there’d been other times he’d missed, deep in the night, Snafu using him as a pillow, that he’d tried to be silent and still as he got himself off.

Victory felt pretty fucking far away throughout the victory party. A distant possibility with all of the horror on their backs. The vicious things they’d seen and done, the sudden release of all that felt like a lie that never ended. A far-off chance of something never to come.

So Sledge had called it early. Dropping onto his sleeping mat in a quiet tent down the end while the party raged on outside. He’d left Burgie and Snafu to finish the bottle of whiskey and bitch about Mac, Burgie clearly wanting to go down and get properly wasted with the other NCO’s who got through this.

He wasn’t surprised when Snafu woke him, the sound of the party still going, by dragging a mat over to him and essentially forcing himself into his arms. Curling into his chest like he owned the space. Smelling like cigarettes and whiskey and bad decisions.

“Had enough?” Sledge asked with a laugh, letting him tangle himself up in his limbs. Pull Sledges free arm around him. Snafu grunted.

“They started drinking some local shit.” He admitted. “I had better moonshine in Pavuvu.”

“Christ.”

“They also were gonna go swimmin’.”

“That’s a bad idea.” Sledge sighed. “Hope the sharks are hungry.”

Snafu let out a huff of laughter against his chest.

A ray of light from the fires moved over them as the wind shifted the tent. Sledge saw a leaf from one of the bushes outside sticking out of Snafu’s hair and, without thinking, ran his fingers through the curls to get it out. Feeling it and pulling it free.

Snafu groaned underneath him at the contact. A noise Sledge had heard from him before. But whispered in the dead of night, when they were far enough apart for it to happen. He paused, fingers resting against his hair, and then relaxed his hand. Pressing into Snafu’s scalp until his palm stat comfortably against his head.

Snafu muttered something in Cajun French, barely audible and nothing Sledge was liable to understand. And they laid there comfortably for a few minutes, Sledge trying to get his brain to turn off again, but finding himself unable to. Suddenly conscious, for the first real time, of how close Snafu was to him. How warmly and well he fit between his arms.

Snafu shifted, tilted his head upwards slightly, drawing a surprised breath from Sledge.

“Sorry.” Snafu said.

“What for?” Sledge frowned, wondering if it was about moving or about the imposition on his personal space he’d been putting up with.

“This.” Snafu moved up and over him, one hand finding his cheek in the dim dark and then pressing their lips together. A slight twist in the right direction and Snafu was kissing him. The taste of cheap whiskey and worse beer, tobacco and whatever fruit he’d been eating taking over Sledges senses. Their lips were dry, chapped and cracked in places. Their skin only clean from the ocean; so distantly salty and dry.

Sledge felt himself pushed onto his back, rolled with strong hands as Snafu moved over him, straddling his hips to press the desperate kisses down onto him.

Sledge realised about a minute too late that he was already responding, the back of his mind had the time to be surprised about it, but his hands busy finding their way back into Snafu’s hair and up his thigh. He raised a knee, sliding the man higher on him and Snafu moved slightly.

Sledge groaned into his mouth as his new hard on ground into Snafu’s own. He repeated the movement, drawing another muffled sound out of his chest.

They eventually came up for air, breaking apart and breathing in each other’s air as they tried to fill their lungs. Snafu’s forehead resting against his, pausing in their movements. Sledge trying to take stock, to figure out what was going on.

Snafu went entirely still, as if he’d only just figured out what he’d done. Then he started leaning back.

“Fuck.” He breathed sharply, an undercurrent of fear in his voice. “I… Fuck.”

He sat back, pushing off Sledge quickly, like he was trying to escape. Sledge reacted without thinking, hooking a fist into his shirt, stopping him as he moved to get to his feet.

They stopped, looking at each other, only visible in strips of light as the wind moved the tent around, breathing heavily still.

Sledge knew in the back of his head why Snafu had panicked. Some of the guys would shoot him for this. Plenty of people back home would, too. It was illegal back home. Here, too, Sledge guessed since they were still Marines, after all.

“What, you just gonna leave me here after that?” He asked, trying not to sound annoyed or frustrated. Tried to sound like he was joking. He let go of Snafu’s shirt carefully, letting his other hand rest against the mans thigh. Snafu’s eyes darted between his, the worry on his face settling gently down.

“Rude.” Sledge added. Snafu was drunk enough to slip quickly back in the mood, moving languidly back over him, a sly smile creeping over his face in the dim light.

“You drink more whiskey than I saw?” He drawled.

“No, but someone woke me up, started making out with me and then tried to leave.”

“Very rude.” Snafu agreed, close enough that Sledge could feel the brush of air as he spoke. “Most of the guys would’a shot me.”

“Some of them might have been surprised.” Sledge agreed with a laugh, gripping harder onto Snafu’s thigh, reaching up to run his fingers over the back of his neck.

“You not?”

“How long you been sleeping on top of me now, Snafu?” Sledge asked. “I’m not an idiot.”

“No, just a southern belle.”

“You’d be fucking lucky.” Sledge laughed and pulled the man back down, bringing their mouths together again like the intimacy was all he needed to breathe. Suddenly aware of every inch of skin that hadn’t been touched in so long as Snafu ran his hands up and over his chest, gripping onto his shoulders, pressing into him until the were both struggling for air again. The sounds of the party became background noise, a distant distraction from everything going on, unimportant information.

Sledge gripped a handful of curls, not quite pulling, but making a fist just to he could move his head and take a breath. The sound that emanated from Snafu was something deep and unmistakable. It went straight to Sledges groin, rolled heat through his belly in a way he had genuinely never experience before.

“Fuck, Snaf.” He growled into the mans mouth. “ _Fuck_.”

“Glad I… make an impression.” He breathed in reply.

Sledge had a sudden idea, though not sure if it was workable, having never really experimented with this kind of thing before.

Or any kind of thing, really.

He let go of Snafu and reached between them, one hand pulled his own pants open and his other hand trying to fight with the buttons of Snafu’s. Harder than he expected to undo someone else’s pants, something about it being backwards confused his usual deft movements. But as soon as Snafu realised what he was doing he leaned back to help, quickly, desperately ripping them aside.

Sledge had never touched someone else like this. But, really, how different could it be? There was an awkward moment of half rolling and shoving as they got their pants far enough out of the way, Sledge moving Snafu on his thighs to line them up.

Snafu obviously hesitated, maybe confused with what he was doing, but groaned and dropped a little as Sledge took him into his hand. Hands resting either side of his ribs. The reach was awkward at first, letting his fingers sit loose enough to be comfortable as he grasped both cocks in his hand and started stroking.

More French ground out of Snafu’s chest, breathed out in a strained voice as the man shuddered above him, trying to stay still and move all at once.

His head dropped, catching Sledges mouth again in a sloppy kiss. Stopping and starting as they moved, shifting to make the hand job easier, Snafu’s hands gipping onto his shirt like he was drowning.

“Good with your hands, Sledge.” Snafu muttered into his mouth between half managed kisses and heavy breaths.

“Shut the fuck up, Snafu.” He laughed, hooking a foot down and pressing his hips up, grinding them together. They groaned into each other, stilling for a second before getting back into their desperate motions.

Sledge tried to keep his stroke even, awkward between their bodies, sweat making life a little easier. Precum smearing on his hand as he went. He didn’t know if it was good for Snafu, but Sledge could feel every motion, heat like he’d never felt coursing through him.

“Sledge…” Snafu breathed. He grunted in reply, close enough to know what he meant.

His hand stuttered for a second and they both groaned with it, pulsed with it, sliding themselves back into the rhythm. It felt like seconds later they had stopped breathing, leaning against each other with the pause of heat, coming into Sledges hand, between their bellies.

They slowed to a stop, breathing heavy, Snafu barely holding himself up long enough for Sledge to get his hand free before simply collapsing on top of him. Not caring for the mess between them.

Silence between them, but for the noise of the party still going on, laughter and chatter and the sound of bottles and cups and canteens.

“Fuck, Sledgehammer.” Snafu laughed. “If I’d known that’s all it took I’d’a done it a year ago.”

Sledge held back his point about how dead they would be by now if they’d been fucking around like that in and out of foxholes and their bunks. His body going lax onto his shitty sleeping mat, weariness and worry gone from him muscles and mind as they lay there, comfortably basking in each other’s touch.


End file.
